


When in Paris

by akpoptrash1



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural AU
Genre: French Dean, M/M, Photographer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akpoptrash1/pseuds/akpoptrash1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a photographer on a mission to find the most beautiful thing he can and capture it on his camera. In a last ditch attempt, he flies to Paris, France. There, he finds the thing he was looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When in Paris

Castiel gripped his camera, staring out the window in wonder. There it was. Paris. The city of love. One of the most beautiful places anyone could ever dream of going to. And he could barely speak the language.

Sure, this sounded like a great idea at the time. His job was to photograph whatever he was doing for the job at the time. Models, nature, people, animals, even sharks once. Magazines and newspapers loved to recruit him, but this was his time off, and he wanted to photograph what he wanted. He wanted to find the most beautiful thing on earth.

He grabbed his carry on, a backpack, and filed off with all the other middle class people. Though he might have been considered rich, he wanted to experience this trip in full. That meant a seat next to a mother and her child and lodgings barely big enough for a bed, bathroom, and little refrigerator.

Castiel sat on his bed, looking through the pictures he had captured in the USA. Flowers, a few women, a few men, one child(his nephew), pets, clouds, sunrises, water, fire, and scenery. All of which were beautiful, but not what he was looking for. Never what he was looking for.

With a dictionary in hand and a camera around his neck, he left for the streets.

He tried the best that he could to speak french, broken as it was. The french people were kind, though. They saw he was struggling and switched to english for him. But when he started to first speak in english, they would ignore him.

That's probably why when a tall man bumped into Castiel, dropping his wallet, he didn't stop. He spoke rapidly on his phone, practically running, not hearing the english words telling him to wait.

There was only one thing for Castiel to do. He grabbed the wallet and ran after him.

It was a good thing the man walked, well, ran, to his destination, or Castiel would have lost him. He arrived to a tall building, probably an office building. But the man went around it to the back.

Behind the building was a garden. The most beautiful garden he had ever seen. There were men and women scattered throughout the garden and a small tent in the corner. The man seemed to be directing the people this way and that. They were all dressed in clothes that looked too thin for the cool spring air. They posed in front of cameras before going to the tent and emerging in a totally different outfit.

Castiel realized it was a photo-shoot for a fashion line. Maybe the man was a photographer, like him!

But, no, he wasn't behind the camera. He was telling the people what to do. He must be the designer. He never turned towards him, always looking at the pictures that came up on a little screen or directing the models to pose this way and that.

Castiel must have stood there for a long time, because the sun was higher in the sky and the people were packing up. He shook himself out of his daze and walked up to the man.

"Pardon moi," he said, tapping the man on his shoulder. "You dropped your wallet."

The man turned and Castiel nearly lost his breath. He was handsome, very handsome. He had stubble, but it seemed intentional rather than he missed a day shaving. His hair, a golden brown, was messy from him running his hands through it. His green eyes seemed a bit playful, and he smiled.

"Thank you," he said with a very heavy accent. "I would not have noticed it was gone until next week."

Castiel could only nod. He didn't know who the man was, but he felt starstruck. He felt like this man was someone he should be amazed by if he saw even a glimpse of that smile. 

"Je m'appelle Castiel," he found himself saying, sticking out his hand. He was so dazzled by this man that he felt the need to speak in his language.

"Le americain parle français," he wondered. "Not very good french, but french. I am Dean. Do you have any paper?"

Castiel quickly dug through his backpack and pulled out his notebook filled with ideas and pictures. Dean quickly looked through it, stopping at the next blank page and pulling out a pen. He scribbled something on it before handing it back. He then smiled and walked away.

Castiel hurridly opened the notebook. He flipped past pages of color and black and white, trying to find whatever he had written. On the page was an address and a time. Underneath it said, "Je vais vous voir ce soir."

Using his trusty dictionary, Castiel translated it to, "I will see you tonight."

That night, he found himself outside a small café. People were eating inside and out, the lights casting a warm glow. It seemed like an alien world compared to the bright and busy restaurants back in the USA.

"Did you get lost?" came a voice. Dean walked up from behind him. "This isn't always the easiest place to find. But, here you are. Come."

Castiel found himself having more fun than he had ever had that night. Dean was a great guy, and he was very interested in why he was in Paris. He listened to his stories and added many of his own. He also made him try escargots, snails, before admitting he didn't like them either.

Dean talked about his little brother, Sam, and how he had become a lawyer after years of hard work. Castiel talked about his own brothers and sisters, especially his prankster brother Gabriel. He recounted story after story of his tricks and how he was usually dragged along through the trouble.

At the end of the night, Dean walked him home to his little room, and asked him if he wanted to get together the next night, same place. Castiel nodded, blurting out, "Que se passe-t-il si je veux vous embrasser?" as Dean turned to go.

He had practiced that sentence over and over in his room before going to the cafe.

Dean stopped, turning back to him. He smiled. "Puis vous devez."

They kissed under the light leading into Castiel's little lodgings. As they pulled away, he pulled out his little camera and snapped a picture.

Once it had developed, he glued it in his notebook, underneath the address and time and four new sentences.

"Que se passe-t-il si je veux vous embrasser?"

"What if I want to kiss you?"

"Puis vous devez."

"Then you should."

Under the picture of Dean smiling and practically glowing in the yellow light, Castiel wrote, "The most beautiful thing in the world."


End file.
